


Rewriting the End of History

by AreYouReady



Category: LE CARRE John - Works, The Secret Pilgrim - John le Carre
Genre: (i guess), Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21568915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AreYouReady/pseuds/AreYouReady
Summary: "The evil was not in the system, but in the man."An eruption of subjective violence.
Kudos: 3





	Rewriting the End of History

**Author's Note:**

> I've never really liked The Secret Pilgrim as an artistic work, but it's one of the most... politically interesting and revealing pieces le Carre has ever written. 
> 
> I don't know what motivated me to write this fic. Maybe the radio play. I just wanted to see a world where Ned succumbs to the same madness that besets every other le Carre protagonist, in the end.

“I suppose I will. Stay for dinner, I mean.” I answered in a dream. The vast grounds of Bradshaw’s estate seemed to gleam out the window. I wondered how many people it took to keep all that grass green. How many gallons of water.

“Bloody good,” said Bradshaw, “I’m glad at least you secret boys understand the value of nature.” He made an expansive gesture, throwing his arm out to all of  _ Percy’s boys.  _

“We do,” I said. There was a large golden candelabra that would have been tacky in any other house, but Bradshaw’s wealth itself was so tacky that I could hardly find it in myself to be aesthetically displeased. I found myself picking it off the shelf.

Bradshaw looked surprised when I hit him. I was surprised, too. But mostly, I was surprised because I realized, as I was doing it, that I still don’t know what hate feels like. I still couldn’t feel anything like that, not really. My humanity had not suddenly returned from a three decade vacation. It was just… nature. In that moment, I couldn’t imagine the world working any other way.

-

When the police arrived, after the butler’s frantic 999 call, they found the warm corpse of Sir Anthony Joyston Bradshaw, lying in a pool of his own blood. Next to him stood a tall man, probably in his sixties, with slightly messy gray hair and the kind of nondescript good looks one wants in a leading man of a romantic comedy. The man was covered in Bradshaw’s blood, but he made no attempt to evade the officers who arrested him. He even offered his wrists for the handcuffs, though of course that wasn’t much help, since his hands had to be cuffed behind him. 

He didn’t say a word when they arrested him, but as they were leading him out of Bradshaw’s manor, he spoke:

“I suppose I’m dead now. The war is over, and I’m a dead man. I wonder why I’m still walking around.” He laughed. Not a madman’s laugh, but a sober and self-deprecating chuckle.

He was quiet for the journey back to the police station, and only spoke again when they shut him in his cell.

“You know, I don’t think it had a point. The war, I mean. Or maybe I mean what I just did to Sir Bradshaw. I’m not sure.” The man stared into space. 

When the officers ran his identification, the little light that told them to call the funnies blinked. But what the hell were spies to do with something like this?


End file.
